


Second Chances

by redeyedwrath



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - After College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Christmas, Fluff, M/M, Mutual Pining, Reunions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-24
Updated: 2018-12-20
Packaged: 2019-02-19 16:07:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 17,853
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13127139
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/redeyedwrath/pseuds/redeyedwrath
Summary: In which, Merlin returns home for the first time since he left for university, Arthur owns a nursery, and Merlin and Arthur try to rekindle something that almost was





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! I've been rushing to get this fic out like CRAZY 'cause I thought I had more time and then I procrastinated and I only had a week left. This is part 1 of 2 because, well, the second part isn't finished yet, but I'll probably post it around Tuesday/Wednesday. I hope y'all can forgive me...
> 
> Thanks to [Fen](http://vanillawg.tumblr.com) for britpicking this and cheerleading and to [Minna](http://ladydrace.tumblr.com) for beta'ing this <3
> 
> Merry Christmas! Or, if you don't celebrate Christmas, happy holidays ^^

_If you kiss me goodnight I'll know_  
_Everything is alright_  
_If second chances won't leave us alone_  
_Then there's faith in love_

**— Kissing in Cars, Pierce the Veil**

 

—

 

The road ahead is dark, no street lanterns lighting the way. Merlin can’t be far from Ealdor now — ten minutes, maybe a bit more. Before he left, he would’ve known the time it took to get from here to his home by the second. Now, everything is a bit more vague, though he recognised the stream he passed a few minutes ago, and the oak tree he just passed seemed awfully familiar.

Christ, he hasn’t been here in what feels like ages. He’s seen his mum regularly, of course, but mostly over Skype, or she visited him in London. He smiles: he hasn’t told her he’s coming, wanting to surprise her, and he can already picture her face when she opens the door.

Him arriving unannounced shouldn’t be too much of a problem. His mum’s made it very clear that he’s always welcome back home, no matter the time of year. Gaius will be very surprised as well, nearly as much as his mum. He can already feel their embrace, the phantom touch enough to push him to drive on.

He releases a breath when he drives past the ‘ _Welcome to Ealdor’_ sign. They must’ve changed it since he’s left: its border used to be red, but it’s black now, and the dent in the side is gone. Though he’s never admitted it, he’s pretty sure his mum knows that was his and Will’s fault.

It’s quiet in Ealdor, everyone cuddled up in front of the TV. It’s never been much of a lively village, but Merlin had still expected a bit more fuss. He drives past the house of Old Man Simmons, turns a left past the library, and then another left. He can already see it there, at the end of the street — his mother’s house, his _home_.

The roof is still a little slanted, but the walls have been touched up, a pristine white now. There’s a light coming from the window. His mum’s still up then, that’s good, he’d hate to wake her up. He parks the car and kills the ignition, but he remains seated, pressing the heels of his hands into his eyes, trying to calm his racing heart.

He opens up the boot, car keys pressing into his palm as he leans against the car. It’d probably be for the best if he left his mum’s gift in his car for now. She won’t be able to sleep when she realises he’s back. He grabs his suitcase but leaves the gift and softly closes the boot.

It only takes him twelve steps to walk to the door but it seems like an eternity. The doorbell is cold against his fingertip when he presses it and its ringing seems too loud in the otherwise quiet neighbourhood.

He hears the click of a door inside the house, then the soft sound of his mum’s feet against the floor. She’s probably wearing her worn, bright pink slippers Merlin gifted her when he was seven. Just the thought of them seems to calm his heartbeat. At least, it does until the door knob twists and the door opens, his mum standing on the other side.

“Merlin?” she chokes out, eyes wide and filled with tears. Merlin sends her a hesitant smile and he’s about to say ‘hello’ when his mum hugs him. “Merlin, my boy,” she says, voice trembling as her arms loop around his neck, strong and kind. Merlin smiles and buries his nose in her shoulder, breathing in the scent of home.

“Hey, mum,” he says shakily, tightening his grip on her. Her hand sweeps over his back, warm even through his coat and jumper. She pulls back, swiping her thumb over his cheek. Merlin smiles at her again, more confident this time, and her finger lands in his dimple.

“What are you doing here?”

“To spend the holidays with you, mum,” he says, leaning into her hand. She moves it again, and for a moment Merlin’s afraid she’s going to cry. She hugs him again, arms squeezing his middle until his lungs almost give out, but he doesn’t mind. He just pulls her closer, and almost sobs when she whispers, “Oh, Merlin, I’m so glad you’re home.”

They stand on the front porch until his mum starts shaking from the cold — she’s only wearing slippers and a bathrobe on top of her pyjamas. She grabs his hand, pulling him inside with her. He puts his coat on the rack, smiling as he sees the pictures on the stand next to it. It’s a drawing, one he made when he was six years old and has been there ever since, and a picture of him and his parents.

“Would you like something?” his mum asks as they walk toward the living room, pulling her bathrobe tighter against her. “A cuppa, maybe?”

Merlin’s about to say yes when he yawns, his jaw popping as he stretches. God, he’s tired. By the looks of it his mum’s tired too. He shakes his head, clenching his hand around his suitcase.

“No, thank you, mum. I’d just like to sleep.”

“Of course, you must be tired. We can talk more in the morning,” she says, smiling. They walk to the second floor together, quietly. It’s so nice to be home again, with his mum, and just in time for the holidays too. He can practically smell the home-baked goods already.

“Good night, my boy,” his mum says, pulling his head down so she can kiss his forehead. Merlin would’ve protested — he’s an adult now, after all — but he’s missed her so much. He clasps his hand around her wrist, keeping it on his cheek for a little while longer.

“Good night, mum,” he says, and then they part ways. The door to Merlin’s bedroom still has the name sign with a little bird next to it on it. He smiles and opens the door, putting his suitcase down in the middle of the room. Apart from the lack of posters on the wall, his room’s exactly the same — the enormous bookcase to the left, the grey and black bedspread they’d bought at IKEA, his stuffed animal collection that seems to fill all the empty spaces.

Letting his fingers glide over his desk and collect some dust, he walks over to the window and opens it. From here, he can see inside the houses of the people who are still up. Mary, the widow who lives across from them, is watching something on TV. Merlin hopes she has someone to go to for Christmas. He knows she’s been quite lonely since her wife died.

He blows the dust off his fingers, letting it flutter into the night sky. It’s indistinguishable from the snow as it falls down, just little flakes whirling in the wind. Merlin would’ve watched them move for longer, but he can already feel the cold start to penetrate everything around him. Just a minute longer and his nose would’ve turned bright red.

Turning back around, he lets himself fall down onto his bed. The crack in the ceiling is still there too. Merlin’s spent eons staring at that crack, trying to fall asleep. Now, though, he can’t keep his eyes open. God, he’s so tired, and everything’s so warm. Maybe if he just closed his eyes for a little bit…

 

—

 

Merlin wakes up feeling like shit.

“Merlin!” his mum calls from downstairs. “Breakfast!”

Rubbing a hand over his eyes, he groans and turns around. He’s just about to go back to sleep when he realises that, oh, he slept in his clothes. That’s… nasty. He yawns, forcing himself to stand up. He stretches, then quickly sheds his trousers and shirt.

After rummaging around in his suitcase ‘til he’s found some pants and his toiletries, he yells, “Going to take a quick shower!” to his mum and walks into the bathroom. The tiles are cold under his feet, so he practically dives onto the nearest bath mat. From what he can see, the shower hasn’t changed. Still a bit fickle then, probably. A quick shower isn’t going to happen.

He’s right: he’s downstairs about twenty-five minutes later, having just showered and brushed his teeth. He feels a lot better, and seeing his mum with a brew at the table reading the newspaper fills him with a mix of nostalgia and fondness. She needs reading glasses, but she’s too stubborn to get them, so instead she just squints.

“Mum?” he says, pulling his jumper down over his trousers. He probably should’ve put some product in his hair, but it’s still wet. It doesn’t matter much though: most of the people he’s likely to run into have known him since he was a toddler. His mum smiles at him, putting the nearly empty mugdown on the table.

“Did you sleep well?” she asks, eyeing the wrinkles that are most likely still on his face. Merlin knows he looks like a mess right now, but there’s little he can do about it. Fortunately it only amuses his mum.

He shrugs. “I forgot to put on pyjamas before falling asleep yesterday.”

His mum snorts and stands up, walking over to him to run her fingers through his hair. He bends down to make it easier for her — whatever she does to his hair can’t be much worse than it already is. She smiles as she says, “I was thinking we could go to Alice’s for breakfast?”

Oh. Merlin hadn’t expected to go there so soon but he likes the idea very much. He hasn’t seen Alice and Gaius in too long. They don’t like trains very much so they haven’t come to visit him in London, and neither of them have a Skype account. He’d really like to see them again.

“Yes, please. Just let me get my scarf — I think it’s still in my suitcase.”

He quickly runs back upstairs, searching around in his bag ‘til he’s found his scarf. It doesn’t take long, luckily — it’s a bright red and stands out starkly against his variety of black trousers. His mum’s already suited up by the time he reaches the front door. He’s glad for it: she usually takes very long to get ready. He pulls on his coat and then they go outside.

Ealdor’s covered in a thick layer of snow, painting everything a pure white. Lines of it have slithered down the street lanterns like vines, enveloping the metal in cold hugs. Merlin amuses himself by imagining they’re snakes for a while as he and his mum walk side by side quietly.

Both his nose and his ears must be a bright red right now: he’d forgotten to bring his earmuffs and his mum didn’t have a spare pair laying around, and they didn’t exactly fit under his hat. He stuffs his hands in his pockets and resists the urge to warm them up. His mum looks at him with a smile like she knows what he’s thinking and he smiles back at her, snow crackling under his feet.

They aren’t far from Alice’s — just another minute or two — and Merlin sighs as he thinks about her and her teahouse. He hasn’t seen her in forever, but he spent so much time in there when he was little. He’s missed the bright pink walls and her delicious vanilla cupcakes.

After they’ve turned left around the corner, he can already see the sign for it. It’s exactly the same: an off-white with purple flowers whose name he forgot, and curly black, hand-painted letters. He’s about to comment on it when his eyes drift to the side to check out where Edmund’s café used to be.

It’s gone. The cosy, dark café that he and his friends used to spend so much time at has been replaced by a brightly-lit _nursery_ , of all things.

“What happened to Edmund’s?” he asks his mum, words accompanied by white puffs of air. He hopes he doesn’t sound too disappointed, though he’s sure his mum knows he loved that café even though he’d pretended not to.

“Edmund retired, Merlin. He’s nearing seventy-four now.”

“Oh…” he says. Christ, he’d nearly forgotten how much time’s passed since he’d last been here. He feels seventeen again now that he’s back in Ealdor where virtually nothing changed. His mum squeezes his shoulder softly and Merlin sends her a hesitant smile. Christ, he really does feel like he’s seventeen again. The last time his mum looked at him like that, he’d come out to her.

“Someone bought it from him and started his own business,” she says, still kind, but with a glint in her eye that Merlin doesn’t trust. He narrows his eyes at her as she says, “What was that boy’s name again? You used to be so close with him…”

Oh. Oh, no. Merlin hopes she isn’t getting at who he _thinks_ she’s getting at, but by the look of her… Merlin swallows his pride and hopes to God that he’s wrong.

“...Arthur?” he asks hesitantly, and his mum’s face instantly brightens with a grin that, if he hadn’t known her probably would’ve looked happy, but Merlin can see the mischievous edges around the corners. He has no idea what she’s planning.

“Ah, yes, Arthur! Lovely boy, he was. Still is,” she says and nods, lacing his arm through hers. They’re almost at the teahouse now and Merlin didn’t even notice. “I ran into him recently and he was very polite. Called me ‘ _Ms. Emrys_ ’ and everything.”

God. Arthur. _Arthur_. Last time Merlin saw Arthur they were, what, seventeen? Seventeen and too young and far too awkward, with bumbling words but bright smiles. He quickly enters the teahouse and hangs his coat on the rack to distract himself. He hopes his mum will blame the red flush that’s almost certainly on his cheeks right now on the cold and not residual… whatever this is.

“That’s... good,” he says after a while. A too long while, probably, by the way his mum’s eyes are twinkling.

“No matter, dear,” she says, waving her hand around as if to dispel the thought. Merlin, though, reminds himself to be cautious around his mum. She takes off her coat too, but takes a bit longer because of how enormous her scarf is. Unwrapping it seems to take almost a century. When she’s done her hair’s all over the place and Merlin reaches out to smoothe it back down. “Tell me, Merlin, why’ve you come here?”

Merlin sighs, resisting the urge to rub a hand over his face. “Can’t it wait ‘till we’ve gotten our tea?”

“I suppose… but don’t think you’re getting out of this,” his mum says, and laces her arm through his again as they walk towards the tables. The walls are still a godawful bright pink, but Merlin instantly feels like he can breathe easier.

“Of course not.”

“Merlin!” Alice nearly shouts when she sees him, immediately putting down what she was carrying as she hurries over to their table. Merlin stands up, _oof_ ing when he’s enveloped in one of her bear hugs. Alice barely reaches his shoulders but Merlin still feels small next to her, like he’s seven years old. “What are you doing here?” she asks when she pulls back, her hands still warm on his forearms. “I haven’t seen you in forever…”

“I’m back for Christmas,” he says, putting his hands in his pockets. He feels quite awkward, which is odd — he’s never felt out of place here before. He most definitely has been gone too long.

“Oh, how lovely!” Alice says, letting go of him and taking a step back. Merlin quickly sits down again. “Just let me get Gaius and we’ll have a little reunion, shall we?”

“That’d be wonderful,” his mum says, looking sharply at where Merlin’s hands are still encased in his pockets. He lies them on the table, suitably chastised. Alice keeps smiling as she watches them interact, her hands clasped in front of her.

“What kind of tea would you like, darlings?”

Merlin orders a lemon tea and his mum asks for some rooibos and then Alice is gone, off to get some tea and her husband. Merlin’s left with a huge smile on his face: Alice and Gaius always were like surrogate grandparents to him. It’s so nice to see them again.

The smile slips off his face when his mum, with a serious look on her face, says, “So…”

Right. Merlin knew he’d have to talk about it at some point, but… he doesn’t know if he can. He shifts in his chair, picking at a divot in one of his fingernails. His mum doesn’t clear her throat, just stares at him, patient, understanding. Merlin cannot express enough how much he loves her.

“I’ve been feeling… off, lately,” he says, looking away. His mum grabs one of his hands, stopping him from picking at the edges. Her hand looks so small in his, and it’s rough from labour. She squeezes.

“Off, how?”

Merlin shrugs. “Claustrophobic, I suppose. I feel… too big for my skin. I just wanted to come home for a while.”

“I’m glad you did.”

They sit in silence for a while, just enjoying each other’s company. Merlin didn’t see it last night, but his mum’s aged quite a bit. There are strands of grey weaving in between the dark brown and the lines around her eyes and her mouth are more pronounced. Merlin’s stomach drops — he should’ve come home sooner.

By the time Gaius and Alice come around the corner, Merlin’s tempted to pull out his phone to distract himself. That idea flies out the window when he hears Gaius yell, “Merlin!” and Merlin quickly jumps to his feet, hugging Gaius close. He looks at Alice over Gaius’ shoulder, seeing the way her eyes water at the sight. Christ, he’s missed them so much.

“Come on now, sit down,” Alice says, voice hard as she tries to cover up the tears. She puts down the tray with a loud clang. Merlin and Gaius let each other go and sit down, and Merlin immediately takes a sip of his lemon tea. He sighs: they don’t make it like this in London. He should try and convince Alice to start a business there. It’d probably catch on. He knows she’d never do it though — too stuck in her old ways.

“How is uni, my boy?” Gaius asks, eyes twinkling with distant memories. Merlin smiles when he sees the way his hand is curled around Alice’s.

“It’s been great. I’m working on my thesis, currently. It’s hard work, certainly, but I’m hoping it pays off in the end.”

Gaius nods. Right. Merlin tends to forget that Gaius has a doctorate in medicine sometimes, he’s been retired for so long now. “It most certainly will. A PhD is highly regarded in whatever career path you choose to pursue.”

“Where’s Will, Merlin?” Alice asks. Judging by the look Gaius shoots her, it’s something he’d been wondering too but had been too afraid to ask about. “You two were such a lovely couple.”

Merlin smiles. Will seems like a lifetime ago now. Though Merlin misses him, it’s not something ugly and twisted. It’s more… bittersweet; happy memories and a good friendship, but with the aftertaste of what could’ve been. They never would’ve worked out in the end, Merlin knows, but it was nice while it lasted.

“Oh, didn’t you hear? We broke up a while ago,” he takes another sip, frowning when it scalds his tongue. Alice sends him a pitying smile, her hand clenched firmly in Gaius’. He can’t imagine what it must look like to them — they got together in high school and never broke up.

“How sad… well, at least you won’t have to spend Christmas alone,” Alice says, gesturing from him to his mum. Merlin smiles and nods — he’s glad to be spending Christmas with her again. He hopes Gaius and Alice will join them. He’s almost certain they will: they’ve always spent Christmas at theirs.

“It’ll be just like the good old days, won’t it, mum?” Merlin asks, and his mum smiles.

“Yes, Merlin. I’m sure it will be.”

They talk to Alice and Gaius for a while longer, Merlin taking sips off his tea and smiling gratefully when Alice hands him another cup, and then another. He’s eaten what feels like a million cupcakes before he and his mum decide to go home. Though he doesn’t want to admit it, and though he _has_ missed them, talking to people for this long makes him tired. His mum definitely doesn’t fail to notice it judging by the half-pitying, half-understanding look she shoots him. He’s pretty sure Gaius and Alice notice too, but they both give him bear hugs when they leave anyway.

Merlin’s grateful to be outside then, at least for a little while. It’s nice to breathe in actual oxygen again, to be here where it’s quiet. There are little to no cars in Ealdor, and even so, the town’s so small that people prefer to walk. He tracks the footsteps of other people and dogs in the snow — they’re not that deep yet, but Merlin’s sure it’ll come. Ealdor’s infamous for being very snowy during the winter.

They walk past the nursery again and Merlin stares at the soft blue letters painted onto the window, a shiver crawling down his spine. It’s closed now, because it’s Sunday, and not even… not even Arthur works on Sundays. Not even back then.

When he glances to the side, his mum’s intently looking at her shoes. Merlin narrows his eyes. Something’s going on here, but he doesn’t know what… he’ll figure it out, though, because he always does. And he’s pretty sure his mum knows that, which is why she’s keeping her mouth shut.

After they get home, Merlin spends the rest of the day doing nothing but napping (properly, in his pyjamas) and messing around on  his phone and his laptop. The folder titled ‘ _Thesis_ ’ is left well alone for once; something that both relaxes Merlin and stresses him out. At one point, his mum asks him for help with baking a cake, something Merlin’s more than eager to help with. He’s missed his mum’s baked goods, especially her Christmas treats.

Near the end of the day, when they’re sitting on the sofa watching TV together — his mum drinking tea and Merlin drinking some coffee, for a change — his mum turns to him and says, “If I’d known you were coming, I’d have left the angel for you.”

Merlin smiles. His mum’s resting her head on her hand, eyes twinkling as she takes a sip of her tea. Putting the angel on top had been an honour reserved for him since he can remember: his mum lifting him to put the fragile golden angel on top, and then later, when he got too heavy to carry, his mum with standing next to the tree, hair tied behind her head, motioning for him to step on a ladder.

He’d always been afraid to drop it — he used to be very clumsy, and sometimes still is, you can ask that of any pointed surface and his skin — but he never did. And, his mum had always reassured him, if he dropped it, she would catch it for him.

“It’s fine, mum. I’m sure it can do without me for a year.”

The corners of his mum’s mouth turn down at that and she looks away, back at the steaming mug of tea in her hand. The blanket’s slipped down a bit, so her socked toes are visible. They’re both wearing Christmas socks — Merlin’s are decorated with gingerbread men and his mum’s have little cats on them. He stares at them, trying to stop his stomach from turning with guilt.

“It’s been longer than a year, hasn’t it,” she says softly, her nail ticking against the mug. Merlin winces.

“I’m sorry…”

His mum sighs, turning back to him. She reaches out a hand, ruffling in his hair. They’re the same height like this, sitting on the sofa, and Merlin leans into her touch. The lamps bathe everything in a soft yellow hue, the only harsh light that of the TV screen.

“I know you are,” his mum says, taking another sip of her tea, her fingers moving around in soothing circles. Merlin’s tempted to put his head in her lap, just like he used to. “I just don’t understand why.”

Merlin’s fingers dig crescents into his palms, blood pounding under the skin. He remembers it, remembers the oppressive feeling of this small town and his loving but overbearing mum, but now that he’s back, now that he can see… “God, I just — I needed to leave,” he says at a loss for words. He’s not going to cry. He’s not. “Get out of this town. It was driving me crazy.”

His mum hums. “And now?”

Merlin thinks of his mum, of Alice and Gaius, of Edmund’s, which has been turned into a nursery of all things — _Arthur’s_ nursery — and Mary who lives across the street, and how so much has changed but it’s all stayed the same too.

“Now I’ve missed it. I’ve been gone too long.”

“I’m so glad you’re back,” his mum whispers and he smiles. He’s glad, too.

 

—

 

The second day he’s in Ealdor, things are going quite slow, which is a blessing. Merlin can’t remember the last time he just… lied down and did nothing for a while. Unfortunately his mum, who always finds some miraculous chores to do for Merlin, found out they didn’t have any biscuits any more when she was drinking tea this morning. So here Merlin is, walking around in the bitter cold, trying to hide his face in his scarf as much as possible. It’s not much of a hardship — he’s sure his ears and nose and cheeks are exactly the same shade as the fabric.

Fortunately, the supermarket isn’t too far away from where they live. Another advantage to living in a small town: everything’s so close together that you don’t have to be outside for too long. As much as Merlin appreciates getting to breathe actual oxygen, it’s way too cold to be here for too long.

There’s been more snow since yesterday, and Merlin almost has to plough his way through it. He’s lucky he remembered to bring his boots with him. It certainly didn’t snow this much in London. Then again, with less traffic and substantially less people there’s really no way the snow will dissipate.

He’s glad when he reaches the supermarket, its bright red colour shining even through the snow. After wiping his feet off on the doormat, Merlin enters it, glad for the warm air blowing his way. The One Stop is exactly as Merlin remembers it: white, easy-to-clean tiles, and bright LEDs that hurt your eyes if you look at them directly. Merlin’s sentiments about the place haven’t changed much, but when the sliding doors open and he sees the tacky Christmas decorations hanging from the ceiling, there’s a hesitant smile on his face. He’s spent so many free periods in here, roaming around for crisps and sweets. He can practically still see him and his friends walking around with their hair ruffled and their ties undone.

Picking up a red basket, he walks over to the ‘ _cookies_ ’ section, plastic handle digging into his palm. Merlin can’t decide which one to pick — his mum’s wishes didn’t go beyond the generic ‘biscuits’ — and he’s about to reach for the chocolate-covered ones when someone slams into him from the side. He stumbles, basket falling onto the ground.

There’s a crash and suddenly the tiles are covered in a dark red liquid.

“Oi!” he starts. “Watch where you’re going!”

The person who ran into him, blond head bowed down as he tries to salvage whatever’s left of his groceries, looks up, blue eyes wide and angry. A muscle in his — admittedly, very square and attractive — jaw jumps in ire.

“ _Excuse me_?” the bloke says. Christ, he sounds as posh as he looks. Merlin clenches his hand into a fist. “ _You_ were the one standing not even a centimeter off the corner.”

The man stands up and now all Merlin can see is blond hair and blue eyes and a strong nose and — oh. _Oh_. Merlin feels his cheeks flush a bright red. He could be wrong, but with what his mum said and the fact that the man standing in front of him looks so much like him…

“...Arthur?”

The man — Arthur, God, _Arthur_ — recoils, taking a step back until they’re staring at each other with a puddle of whine between them. It seems so unreal: it’s been seven years since they saw each other last, maybe even eight, and here Arthur is. Still unreasonably attractive, but with a broadness in his shoulders that takes Merlin’s breath away.

“ _Mer_ lin?” Arthur says, eyes big but with recognition this time. They seem even bluer in the shitty LED light. Merlin almost laughs at the absurdity of it. “You’ve… grown.”

Merlin does laugh this time. Arthur’s just staring at him, looking him up and down from head to toe. His mouth is hanging open, and Merlin just… doesn’t know what to do. “I’d hope so. Last time we spoke I just about reached your waist.”

Arthur snorts, shaking his head, and Merlin’s pretty sure his jaw’s on the ground. Arthur, _snorting_? He never thought he’d see the day that happened — from what he can remember, Uther always ran a very tight ship and Arthur was certainly not exempt from that. “I’m pretty sure you were a mite taller than that.”

They stand in silence for a while, just looking at each other. Christ, Merlin didn’t think it was possible, but Arthur looks even more attractive than he used to: his jaw’s sharper and he’s filled out in the shoulders, but his eyes are still big and a light blue that takes Merlin’s breath away, and his hair’s still the same blond colour that used to feature quite heavily in Merlin’s dreams. He’s… Arthur’s… Merlin’s _missed_ him.

“God, _Merlin_ …” Arthur breathes out. Merlin feels exactly the same. He hopes… he hopes Arthur thinks the same about him, still. Putting his hand in the crook of his elbow, he shifts his weight from one feet to the other.

“How’ve you been?” Merlin asks after a while, and he feels a shock go through him when Arthur’s eyes snap to meet his. They’re still so… so… God.

“I’ve been…” Arthur runs a hand through his hair, smiling wildly. It startles Merlin — this isn’t the Arthur he remembers. But it is an Arthur he wants to know. “I’ve been great, actually. Bought Edmund’s last year.”

Merlin nods. “My mum told me about that. Didn’t think you were the type to start a nursery.”

That makes Arthur look away, a pink tinge covering his cheeks. Merlin stares, mesmerised, because Arthur… Arthur Pendragon is _blushing_. He’s blushing and twisting his ring around his thumb, a nervous habit he used to have and apparently still has. It makes Merlin want to —

“I was going to get a degree in business but then…” Arthur trails off, at a loss for words. Though he hasn’t heard anything about it, Merlin can imagine what happened. “Well, things changed. For the worst in some cases, but definitely for the better in this one.”

Merlin’s about to say something, maybe even… lay a comforting hand on Arthur’s shoulder. He can practically imagine it: Arthur’s shoulder firm and warm under his hand, Arthur giving him that crooked smile he used to give Merlin, when he glimpses the time on his watch.

“Oh, shit, I’ve got to run. I’m going to the Christmas Market in Bath with my mum.”

“Of course,” Arthur says, seemingly getting himself together. His smile is polite, this time, faker, more like the Arthur Merlin used to know, and though it’s familiar to him, it makes Merlin’s stomach drop. Arthur grips his shopping basket a bit higher, preparing himself to move on. “Tell your mum I said hello.”

“I will,” Merlin says, and they nod goodbye to each other. It feels unbearably awkward, but then again they’d never been good at farewells. Arthur continues on, and Merlin turns to walk towards the cashiers. He nearly reaches them when the sinking feeling of regret and something… something else overwhelms him and he hurries back to the ‘cookies’ aisle, running in the direction Arthur went.

He stops near the refrigerators filled with meat. God, where could Arthur have gone? He bends over, panting, when he sees a blond head walking down one of the aisles and he takes off again.

“Arthur!” he yells, and Arthur jumps around, startled. A smile takes over his face when he sees Merlin running towards him, flailing hands and all. It’s feels just like old times. “Arthur,” Merlin repeats when he’s reached Arthur, resting his hands on his knees as he tries to catch his breath. Christ, he’s really out of shape, isn’t he?

“Yes?” Arthur asks, eyebrow raised in amusement.The first time Merlin had seen that eyebrow raise he’d wanted to punch Arthur in the face. Honestly, he could still be persuaded to do that.

“Can I…” he starts, then pauses, this time with something more than just shortness of breath. Arthur’s still just looking on — still taking pleasure in Merlin’s struggling, then. “Give you my number? I’d love to catch up sometime. Learn more about the man who started a nursery.”

Arthur’s face softens and something in Merlin’s stomach explodes. He hopes Arthur chalks the undoubtedly red hue of his cheeks up to the running and not to… to… whatever this is. “Of course.”

Holding out his hand, Arthur practically demands Merlin’s phone. No change there, then. Merlin hands it over to him anyway, Arthur’s thumb ring clinking against the side as he grabs it from Merlin. Merlin’s… well. Merlin likes that thumb ring. A lot.

Arthur taps away at the screen, and Merlin wants to ask what he’s doing, but then Arthur hands it back over. It’s open on the texting app. “Now I’ve got yours too. See you around, Merlin.”

Arthur smiles at him and walks off again, leaving Merlin standing in the aisle with his phone clutched in his hand. Softly, he says, “See you soon, Arthur.”

 

—

 

By the time he’s outside again, he’s convinced it was a dream. Running into Arthur… Arthur… Arthur looking, well, the way he does. There’s no way it can be real. He walks back towards home in a daze, his phone burning a hole through his pocket. The trek through the snow somehow seems shorter, and before he knows it he’s hanging his coat back up on the rack, plastic bag leaning against his leg.

He walks into the kitchen and puts the bag on the table, boots leaving a wet trail through the entire house, and then he sits down on one of the chairs, rubbing a hand over his face. God, Arthur. _Arthur_. The same Arthur who broke his nose standing up for Merlin, the same Arthur with a nose that was too big for his face, the Arthur that Merlin, well...

“Merlin?” his mum calls from where she’s standing at the sink, washing the dishes. Merlin winces — he probably should’ve done those. Her hair’s tied back again and she’s wearing bright yellow gloves. Merlin gets up, grateful for the distraction, and puts the biscuits where they’re supposed to go.

“Sorry I’m late,” he says, putting a hand on her shoulder and kissing her on the cheek. “I ran into Arthur at the supermarket.”

His mum turns to him, putting down the glass she was holding and raising an eyebrow, her hip against the cupboard. Merlin swallows — that look doesn’t come out often, but when it does…

“Did you, now?” she says, trying to feign disinterest and failing miserably at it. Sighing, Merlin sits back down in one of the chairs. He could pretend he has no idea what she’s getting at, but she’s somehow always miraculously known what was bothering him. Besides, like she said, he and Arthur used to be… close.

“Yeah, quite literally,” Merlin says, trying to convince himself not to bury his head in his hands. Christ, he’s pathetic. He looks up when his mum snorts, but she’s still doing the dishes, trying to hide the smile on her face behind a the few tangles of her hair that have escaped the hair tie.

“Of course you did. What did he say?”

“Not much. He.” Merlin takes a deep breath as he remembers their run-in; the way Arthur had looked at him, and the way he’d change. The way he’d grown. He only realises he’s been quiet for too long when his mum turns to stare at him, gloved hands hanging above the sink to avoid getting water everywhere. Merlin blushes and swallows, continuing, “he mostly just stared.”

His mum smiles at that, not even attempting to hide it this time, and picks up a dirty plate and the brush. “Right.”

“We exchanged phone numbers.”

“Are you going to meet up with him, then?”

“Yeah, I suppose,” Merlin shrugs, picking at the varnish on the sink with a nail. “There’s not much else to do around here, is there?”

His mum bats his hand away, and says, eyes twinkling, “You could hang out with your old mum?”

“You’re not old,” Merlin scoffs. His mum shrugs and goes back to cleaning the dishes. Merlin’s stomach swirls with guilt. Though he used to live here, he’s here as a guest, now, and he should’ve offered to help. He sighs. Better late than never. “Do you need some help with that?”

“No, thank you, Merlin. I’m nearly done. Go grab my bag from upstairs, will you?”

Merlin nods and gets her bag for her, making sure her wallet’s actually in it instead of somewhere else — it wouldn’t be the first time his mum had forgotten her wallet. The drive takes about an hour, and they fill the entire time with singing awful Christmas songs.

It takes them over two hours to cross the entire Christmas market, and by the time they’re done, Merlin’s pretty sure he’s going to explode. Christ, he ate so much, but it always all so _good_. Mushrooms with garlic, fruit dipped in chocolate, glühwein…

His mum had dragged him to all sorts of chalets, ranging from handmade glasswork to tin soldiers. The little shops are all made of wood, decorated with tinsel and baubles. Merlin had sneakily bought another present for his mum — another scarf, this one smaller but warmer than the one she already has.

One of the shops they’d walked past had an arrangement of different symbols — Merlin had spotted the usual things, but also things like the flower of life and a triskelion. He’d been intrigued by the little roaring dragon laying on the dark blue background. Handmade, it’d claimed to be. It looked like an exact copy of what he and… Arthur used to draw: a roaring dragon and a castle, a king and his friend (or servant, Arthur had been adamant as he’d drawn a stick figure with huge ears — Merlin had protested both the stick figure’s position as a servant and the ears: they weren’t _that_ large).

When they get back home, Merlin has a scarf tucked into his coat and a stomach that’s so full he feels like he’s going to throw up. His mum takes one look at him and how much paler he was than usual and just sends him upstairs, laughing. There isn’t a way to covertly bring the scarf with him, but he tries regardless: tucked under his sweater, hoping his mum chalks his suddenly huge belly up to the excess of food.

He immediately stuffs it into his suitcase, at the bottom, and closes it with a lock. He might be a bit too paranoid about it, but he wouldn’t put it above his mum to snoop through his stuff under the guise of making sure all his clothes were washed.

Flopping back onto his bed, Merlin sighs. God, his stomach hurts. He feels bile rising in his throat. He really shouldn’t have eaten this much. After grabbing his phone from his pocket, he opens up the nonogram app he has: if he’s incapable of doing anything productive he might as well solve puzzles.

After a while, he puts it down, staring at the crack in the ceiling. He can’t seem to focus on anything: today is one of those days where his brain seems to be going faster than the rest of the world. He’s debating taking a shower just to have something to do when he realises that oh. Oh. He’d promised to text Arthur, hadn’t he?

 **Merlin:** Hey

Arthur’s response is almost instantaneous. Merlin doesn’t even have the time to sit up before his phone vibrates. He bites his lip at the thought of Arthur sitting next to his phone, waiting for Merlin to send him a message. Merlin knows it’s just a fantasy, Arthur’s life didn’t suddenly revolve around him, but it makes something warm crawl its way down his spine anyway.

 **Arthur:** Hello

Merlin stares at it for a while, the message blinking innocuously back at him from the screen. Christ, what’s he even _doing_? He feels like he wants to either disappear or run three laps around Ealdor.

 **Merlin:** Want to meet up tomorrow?

 **Arthur:** Can’t. Tomorrow’s a work day.

Oh. Of course. Merlin tells himself the feeling that makes the corners of his mouth turn down isn’t disappointment and he throws his phone onto his bedspread. He should’ve realised Arthur had work. Of course he can’t meet with Merlin.

His phone vibrates again and Merlin nearly falls off his bed in his haste to check the message.

 **Arthur:** How about Wednesday?

 **Merlin:** I'm all yours

Arthur doesn’t reply after that. According to the grey check marks he hasn’t even read it yet, and it makes Merlin feel sick. He probably shouldn’t have texted that, _fuck_ , what if Arthur looks too much into it.

After a while of alternating between staring at his phone screen and biting at his fingernails, Merlin decides to put on his pyjamas, brush his teeth and just go to bed. Arthur still hasn’t read it yet. Merlin sighs and closes his eyes, falling asleep with his phone clutched to his chest.

 

—

 

When Merlin wakes up, Arthur still hasn’t responded. Christ, he feels like a high schooler again, falling asleep while texting Arthur dubiously flirty things. Seems he hasn’t changed as much as he’d like to think he had. He stares at the blue checkmark next to the message — seems like Arthur read it but didn’t respond. Merlin doesn’t know whether to be happy or sad about that.

He stretches, glad he’s alone because he’s making some questionable noises while doing so. Scratching at his stomach, he walks down the stairs. His hair is most likely a mess, but he doesn’t run his fingers through it: there’s nothing that can save his hair apart from a dollop of wax.

His mum is, as always, sitting at the kitchen table, reading the paper while drinking a cup of tea. The biscuits he got yesterday are next to her, and there are two missing already. Merlin smiles: for all she preaches that he should eat healthier, she still eats two biscuits instead of one.

Merlin walks into the kitchen, grabbing a plate and some bread from the freezer. It’s still cold, so Merlin turns around, leaning against the kitchen sink. His mum raises her eyebrow and Merlin takes a deep breath, preparing himself for whatever she seems to be planning, and says, “So, I’m meeting Arthur tomorrow.”

Her mug clinks softly against the table when she sets it down, stapling her hands under her chin. Merlin doesn’t like the tilt to her mouth, and he crosses his arms in front of him.

“Any concrete plans?” she asks. Merlin shrugs, putting his fingers on the slice of bread to see if it’s warmed up a bit yet. The edges are okay, but the middle is still a bit cold, and he curses it: no distractions yet, then.

“We’re probably going to the pub.”

His mum smiles, wrapping her fingers around the mug again. “Ah, of course.”

Merlin turns back around: the bread’s probably warmed up enough now, and if it hasn’t, he’ll just eat it like this. Grabbing the peanut butter from one of the cupboards and a knife, he covers the bread. When he has a glass of milk in his hand, he sits down opposite of his mum, eating his breakfast.

“Oh, Merlin,” his mum says when she’s finished with the newspaper. Merlin pauses with the slice raised halfway to his mouth. “Invite him to come over for Christmas, will you? He’ll be spending it alone otherwise.”

Ah. He takes a bite, chewing it slowly to delay the inevitable. Arthur over at theirs for Christmas? Arthur wearing a jumper and pyjama pants, Arthur drinking hot chocolate, Arthur sitting in front of the fireplace, Arthur smiling at Merlin, eyes soft and warm with Christmas, Arthur, Arthur, _Arthur_ —

He nearly chokes in his haste to swallow his bite, peanut butter sticking to the back of his throat. His mum just looks on in amusement, watching him struggle not to spit peanut butter all over the kitchen table.

“Oh,” he says, hoping his mum will attribute the redness of his face to his choking fit instead of him thinking about Arthur. “I don’t think he’ll accept the invitation, though.”

“Nonsense,” she says, waving the thought away. “Arthur’s a perfectly nice boy.”

Merlin snorts: his mum always seemed to like Arthur more than Merlin’s other friends — though Merlin can’t imagine why. Of course Arthur had been well-liked in general, because Lord knows Arthur Pendragon couldn’t be anything less than perfect, but during their first meeting (at age five, that is) he’d insulted Merlin’s ears and Merlin had ran to his mum, crying.

“I’m beginning to think you like him more than you like me,” he says. His mum drinks the last of her tea, an indulgent look on her face, the one people have told Merlin they share.

“I know you’re only saying that to change the subject, Merlin. I’ll allow it this time. But ask him, will you?”

He sighs. He should’ve known his mum wouldn’t be fooled by his deflection. Instead of trying to denying he just nods, saying “I will.”

And he will. Not only because his mum will crucify him if he doesn’t, but also because he doesn’t want Arthur to be alone at Christmas, and because… because he wants Arthur there. Merlin’s never seen what a Christmas at the Pendragon household looked like, but he can imagine it wasn’t very festive: Uther doesn’t seem like a man to put up Christmas trees and wear ugly jumpers.

“Is there anything you want me to do today?” he asks his mum after a while, looking up from where he was picking at the edge of a fingernail. His mum just smiles.

“No, thank you, love.” His mum gets up, taking her mug and Merlin’s dirty plate with her to put them in the sink. Merlin turns around when she says, “I’ve an appointment at the dentist’s so I’ll be going now. You be good.”

Merlin snorts. “As if I’m ever anything but good.”

His mum shoots him a look like she doesn’t believe him, and he tries his best to look as innocent as possible. Obviously his mum has twenty-five years of blackmail material on him, but he’s her favourite (and only) son, so it doesn’t really matter much. When she’s gone up the stairs, Merlin moves to the sofa, fully intending to stay in his pyjamas until he has to leave.

 

—

 

His mum gets back at just the right time to witness Merlin freaking out. He’s already had to talk himself down from a panic attack or two when he hears the click of the front door opening and footsteps in the hall. After counting to three to calm his too-high heart rate — Christ, you’d think he was going to do something life-threatening instead of talking to Arthur — and staring at the clothes lying on his bed one more time, he makes up his mind.

“Mum?” he yells, crossing his arms over his chest. Luckily he’s already in his skinny jeans and not just in his boxers, because he — a _twenty-five_ year old — is about to ask his mum about fashion advice.

She practically runs up the stairs, feet thundering against the wood. She looks a bit hassled when she asks, “What’s wrong?”

Oh. He hadn’t meant to worry her. It’s just clothes after all. He motions sheepishly to the jumpers lying on his bed and his mum sighs, wiping an imaginary drop of sweat off her forehead.

“I just need you to tell me if I should wear the red jumper or the blue one.”

His mum smiles, walking further into the room until she’s standing next to him. She runs her fingers over both the jumpers, which is kind of redundant ‘cause Merlin’s pretty sure they’re made from the exact same fabric.

“Ah,” she says, her voice teasing. “Want to impress Arthur, do we?”

Scoffing, Merlin shifts his weight from one feet to the other. There’s no need to impress Arthur, because, well, he’s _Arthur_. One of Merlin’s oldest friends. Why would Merlin want to impress Arthur, of all people. “Of course not. It’s _Arthur_.”

“Right,” his mum says, but judging by her tone she doesn’t quite take him seriously. “Wear the blue one, Merlin. It brings out your eyes.”

Merlin shrugs, but picks it up and puts it on anyway. After he’s straightened it, his mum runs her fingers through his hair, trying to pull down the few strands that insist on standing upright. It’s pretty much a lost cause, and they both know that, but she does it regardless.

“Oh, by the way, Merlin,” she says after pulling back, nodding when she’s looked him over. “I’ll be going to the village council so I might not be here when you get back.”

Ah. Merlin’d totally forgotten his mum was even on the village council. Of course she couldn’t have cancelled it because she didn’t know he was coming, and he wouldn’t have wanted her to anyway. Though, if he sees the way she’s hunched in on herself, he thinks she’d rather have liked an excuse not to go.

“That’s fine. You have fun.”

“Fun,” his mum grumbles. “You’re the only one who’ll have any fun tonight, I hope.”

Merlin blushes, looking away. His mum’s probably thinking the exact same thing he’s thinking, if the way she’s looking at him is anything to go on. Merlin turns around to grab a scarf — his red one, again — from his suitcase, just so he can avoid his mum’s eyes.

They walk down the stairs together and Merlin asks his mum how she’s doing, to which she grimaces: she’s never been the biggest fan of the dentist and neither is Merlin, honestly. He puts on his coat and lets his mum kiss his forehead.

“Don’t be back too late!”

Merlin rolls his eyes. “I’m an adult, mum.”

“And I’m your mother,” she says, his face still between her hands. “So do a poor old woman a favour and don’t stay out all night.”

“Of course not. See you later, mum.”

And with that he’s off. It’s dark outside already — the days keep getting shorter and shorter. Though Merlin’s sort of glad for it, he’s never much enjoyed walking around when it’s dark, and certainly not when there’s snow that’s freezing over. He’ll have to endure it anyway: he’s definitely not going to bike in this weather.

The things he does for Arthur.

He stuffs his hands into his pockets, trying to protect them against the cold. Unfortunately for him he has a lot appendages that stick out a lot, so those’ll probably be a bright, neon red when he arrives at the pub. His breath comes out in little white clouds and he smiles: he and Arthur always used to pretend they were steam trains or boats when they were little.

The pub — the only pub, now that Edmund’s is gone — has never been Merlin’s favourite place: it’d always been too small for his tastes, too dark and oppressive. However, tonight’s a night before a work day, so most people are either eating or already sleeping. Brushing some imaginary lint of his trousers and straightening his jumper for the last time, Merlin takes  a deep breath, walking through the doors.

He spots Arthur instantly: the blond hair does wonders for Arthur’s recognisability. He waves, and Arthur raises his nearly empty beer glass in greeting. Merlin blushes. Right. Beer. He walks over to the bar and orders two glasses from whatever’s on tap — some Brown Ale with an obscure name Merlin doesn’t bother to remember. He clenches his hand around the edge of the bar. God, he doesn’t want to turn around to look at Arthur in fear of coming off as eager, but he also wants to look at Arthur because, well…

Two beers are put down in front of him by the bartender and Merlin’s grateful for the interruption — he definitely shouldn’t be left alone with his thoughts for too long where Arthur’s concerned — and sends her a smile before turning away. Arthur’s finishes up his beer, putting the empty glass in front of him and wiping away the remnants of foam at the corners of his mouth.

“Cheers,” he says when Merlin hands him the glass before slipping in next to him. Merlin’s careful not to sit too close, but also not to far away to be rude. In the end, he settles on sitting so close to Arthur that he can feel the heat coming off Arthur’s thigh. Christ. He’s sitting next to _Arthur_.

They look at each other for a while, occasionally sipping at their beers. Arthur looks different in the light of the pub, a bit softer, the lines around his eyes and mouth not as harsh. His thumb ring ticks against the side of the glass, drawing Merlin’s attention to it. Arthur has really broadened out — in all aspects it seems, his hands not excluded. They’re wide, capable. Merlin swallows and quickly looks away when he notices Arthur looking at him.

The radio station is playing that awful Christmas song that Merlin’s heard too many times already. _All I want for Christmas is you_ , Mariah Carey croons. Merlin sinks further into his seat, both to stop thinking about, well, you know, and to avoid Arthur’s gaze more. Merlin’s skin feels too tight for his body: he definitely should’ve worn something looser than skinny jeans, Christ.

“So…” Merlin says when his glass is nearly empty, tapping out a rhythm against the side. Arthur raises an encouraging — or mocking — eyebrow when Merlin doesn’t continue. Merlin swallows, throat suddenly dry, and says in a small voice, “Nice weather, huh?”

Arthur bursts into laughter, head thrown back and too many teeth in his mouth, his glass deposited safely onto the table. Merlin doesn’t know whether he’d rather sink through the floor or keep looking at Arthur laughing for the rest of eternity.

When Arthur calms himself, he wipes away a few tears. Merlin’s just about ready to die when he says, still smiling, “God, I’d nearly forgotten how awkward you were.”

Right. That was them: Arthur, the prat who was good at most things but not all of them, and Merlin, the awkward yet assertive boy who stuck too close to his side. He throws back the rest of his beer and scrunches up his nose at the taste. It’s gone lukewarm, and Merlin can feel it slide down to his stomach.

“Maybe we should start over?” Merlin asks when he can’t make any excuses anymore, the words heavy on his tongue. “Pretend we’ve never met each other before, I mean.”

Arthur looks at him strangely, head tilted to the side. For a moment, Merlin’s reminded of one of their board game nights, where Merlin would win and Arthur, determined to find out how Merlin had cheated — because of course Merlin had cheated: Arthur didn’t lose, _shut up Merlin_ — would look at him like that, like he was trying to figure something out.

“Alright then,” Arthur says after a while, shrugging his shoulders — his _broad_ shoulders, Merlin mentally appends. Holding out a hand — a really gorgeous hand, with really nice fingers, Arthur says, “Hello, Merlin. I’m Arthur Pendragon.”

Merlin swallows, tentatively taking Arthur’s hand and shaking it. Arthur’s handshake is firm, decisive, polite. Merlin hadn’t expected anything else from Uther’s son. Though he’s not fully Uther’s son anymore, not the way he used to be: Merlin can see it in the way he holds himself, the look in his eyes, the fact the he runs a _nursery_ , of all things. Merlin’s about to introduce himself when he realises what Arthur said.

Narrowing his eyes, he says, “If we’ve only just met you don’t know my name.”

The corners of Arthur’s mouth turn up, his eyes twinkling with mirth as he takes another sip of his beer. He shrugs saying, “Right. Guess I’m bad at pretending we haven’t met before, then.”

Oh. Merlin blushes, looking away. He has the odd urge to put his hands under his thighs: maybe to make sure he doesn’t do something stupid like put his head in his hands and pray he disappears or grabbing the back of Arthur’s neck and kissing him in the middle of the pub. He jumps when Arthur’s shoulder bumps into his.

“Come on, Merlin, tell me about yourself,” Arthur says, leaning back a little more. Merlin doesn’t know if he’s disappointed or relieved. “Did you end up going into medicine like Gaius?”

“No. I mean, I tried, but it just wasn’t for me. I’m writing my thesis right now.”

“What about?” Arthur asks, interested. Merlin appreciates the gesture but he really doesn’t want to discuss his thesis right now. He’s been doing pretty much nothing else for the past year. So, instead of getting into it, he decides to give Arthur an extremely appended summary.

“Climate change,” he says, then, when he sees Arthur’s mouth open with a question, he quickly continues with, “More specifically on what would happen if the ice caps all melted.”

“Imminent death, I imagine?”

Merlin snorts. That’s a very… apt synopsis of his thesis. “Yeah, pretty much.”

Silence, then, their bubble broken by the noise of the people around, however few there may be. Merlin really doesn’t know what to say, and he bites his lip, trying to think of a subject when oh. If Merlin doesn’t ask Arthur to spend Christmas with him — _them_ , not him — he’s alone.

“How about you then? How are Morgana and Uther?”

Arthur shrugs, averting his eyes. He picks at the corner of a coaster, the top layer of felt coming off slowly but surely. “Morgana’s fine. She’s up north with her husband for the holidays.”

Oh. Merlin didn’t know she was married. They’re Facebook friends, sure, but he’s never on there much anyway. He sighs. “Must be nice.”

“Yeah,” Arthur says, nodding.

“To have a husband, I mean,” Merlin appends. Arthur doesn’t glance up, just keeps looking at the coaster. If Merlin didn’t know better he’d say Arthur’s cheeks are red.

“Yeah,” Arthur says again.

That’s. Well. Merlin wishes he still had some beer left — maybe it would’ve cooled down his burning cheeks. Arthur looks up at him, eyebrow raised in a silent question of _aren’t you going to say something_?

“Spend Christmas at mine?” Merlin blurts out before he can stop himself. Both Arthur’s eyebrows shoot up into his hairline.

“Er,” Arthur says, spinning his ring around his thumb.

“I mean,” Merlin scrambles to say, face hot. Arthur just watches him, and it makes him feel like he’s going to throw up. Scratching at his neck, he continues, “Well. You don’t have to, obviously. It’s just. If you’re going to be alone anyway? Might as well spend it with people.”

Something in Arthur’s expression softens, the corners of his mouth turning up, and it’s helped along by the orange glow of the pub’s lighting. Maybe it’s Merlin’s imagination, but Arthur shifts just a tad closer until their thighs are touching. Merlin does put his hands beneath his legs now to refrain himself from doing something stupid like laying his hand on Arthur’s.

“Maybe,” Arthur says, glancing up at Merlin. “I’d have to think about it.”

Merlin smiles — Arthur’s words tell one story, but his tone tells another. Merlin’s long since learned to read the minute details of Arthur’s expression.

“Of course,” Merlin rushes to say. The last thing he wants to do is pressure Arthur into spending time with him, though there’s a part of him that thinks Arthur’s here voluntarily. _Extremely_ voluntarily. “Just… let me know when you’ve made a decision?”

Arthur nods. “I will.”

They sit in silence for a while, Arthur’s thigh firm next to his, when Arthur happens to glance at his watch. His eyes widen slightly when he sees the time. Merlin grabs his phone to look at the time and oh. It’s nearly ten o’clock already.

“I really should be going,” Arthur says, that polite smile on his face again. Merlin’s stomach drops. It feels like they’ve only been here for an hour. He doesn’t want Arthur to leave. “I have to work tomorrow.”

Merlin raises his eyebrows. “I thought we were out drinking because you didn’t have to work tomorrow?”

“I only have to turn up in the afternoon,” Arthur explains, grabbing his coat and getting up. Merlin instantly misses the warmth of Arthur next to him, and he subtly shivers. “Guinevere — she’s one of the other employees — has a morning shift tomorrow.”

Nodding, Merlin bites his lip in order to stop himself from asking stupid questions. They stare at each other, eyes occasionally slipping down before meeting again. Merlin’s the first to look away, face hot.

“Well,” Arthur says, clearing his throat as he holds out his hand. “It’s been a pleasure.”

Merlin eyes it. He looks up at Arthur, then back again, then at Arthur again. He shakes Arthur’s hand when it starts trembling, Arthur’s smile slipping off his face. Merlin swallows: it seems… odd to shake hands, all the warmth suddenly gone.

“Likewise,” Merlin says, forcing himself to smile. Arthur’s handshake is solid, decisive — just like Uther taught him probably — but Arthur’s hand is warm and his fingers are soft. Even despite the weirdness of shaking hands, Merlin can’t help but want to hold on for longer, disappointment swirling in his stomach when Arthur lets go, stepping back even further. His eyes remain on Merlin.

“I’ll… just be going, then,” he says, pointing at the entrance with his thumb.

“Right,” Merlin says.

“Right,” Arthur repeats. Then he turns around and walks out of the pub.

Merlin stays a little longer, replaying bits of the evening into his head. He orders another beer and nurses at it, letting it warm him up. The bartender glances at him, sitting there alone in the corner, and he raises his beer at her in thanks and recognition. He leaves when his glass is empty, tipping the bartender. She calls out a _Merry Christmas_! before he can walk out, and Merlin returns the sentiment.

The walk back to his house is cold. He spends most of it listening to the snow crunch under his boots and trying not to think about anything Arthur-related. Considering that every time he sees a street lantern he thinks back on the way the light bounced off Arthur’s hair and every time he looks at the blue fences surrounding front gardens he thinks of Arthur’s eyes, he fails rather miserably at the latter.

By the time he actually gets home he feels like a wreck, shivering with cold and desperation and something ugly and obsessive in his stomach. After hanging up his coat, he walks into the living room, finding his mum on the sofa, reading a book. She perks up when she sees him enter the room, and Merlin cringes when she folds the corner of the page to mark it.

“How’d it go?” she asks, stretching out on the sofa. Merlin sits down on the armchair next to the fireplace, melting into the cushions. Christ, he suddenly feels like he could sleep for the next five days.

Merlin shrugs. “Fine, I suppose?”

“You suppose?”

“Well, you know. It’s Arthur,” he says, like that explains it, and it should. It’s just Arthur. Just the boy he’s known for most of his life. Just someone who used to be his best friend, someone who almost… well…

“Of course,” his mum says, smiling. “Did you invite him over for Christmas?”

“He said he’d think about it.”

His mum yawns. “Lovely. Well, I’ve had a very trying day and I’m not getting much younger, so I think I’ll be going to bed. Sweet dreams, Merlin.”

She stands up, kissing his forehead as she walks by and Merlin manages a smile despite the weird mood he finds himself in. “Good night, mum.”

Merlin goes to bed not long after his mum. He puts the few remaining glasses in the sink and turns off the kitchen lights before walking upstairs. He changes into his pyjamas, brushes his teeth and puts on his socks — if he doesn’t, he’ll just wake up around three in the morning with ice cold feet.

When he’s finally lying in bed, covers pulled up to around his shoulders to save as much warmth as possible, Merlin opens up his texting app: Arthur’s on the top of the ‘ _Most Recent_ ’ list, so Merlin really doesn’t have an excuse for how long it takes him to actually make a decision. His thumb hover precariously over Arthur’s name. Instead of tapping on it, Merlin decides that — if he’s in the spirit of procrastinating and feeling so anxious his hands are shaking — he might as well take a look at Arthur’s avatar.

It’s nothing special really. Just a picture of Arthur smiling — taken in a train, judging by the surroundings — a bit colour-corrected to give it a pink tinge. Merlin bites his lip: it’s not the one Uther taught him: the polite, distant smile. It’s a genuine smile, Arthur’s eyes twinkling with mirth and laughter, his hair ruffled like he’s run his hands through it, and too many teeth in his mouth. Merlin can feel his heart skip a beat.

He quickly exits out of the window before he has the chance to do something stupid.

Sighing, he thumbs over to open Arthur’s thread. If he’s making this much of a fool of himself just looking at a picture, it can’t be much worse if Merlin texts him. He spends five minutes, but what feels like an eternity, deciding what to type. In the end, he settles on:

 **Merlin:** I had fun tonight

The screen doesn’t even have the change to lower its brightness before Arthur texts back:

 **Arthur:** Me too

Well. He’d suspected Arthur had fun, but to hear it from him… Merlin smiles, swiping his thumb over the screen lovingly before he catches himself. Quickly, he texts back with the first thing that pops into his head.

 **Merlin:** I don’t mean to rush you, but have you thought about Christmas yet?

 **Arthur:** Well, I suppose, since I don’t have anyone to spend it with as you said, I might as well spend it with you, right?

While Arthur phrases it like Merlin’s his last choice, Merlin certainly knows better. He smiles madly at the screen, his face hot. Arthur’s going to be spending Christmas with him. _Arthur’s going to be spending Christmas with him._

 **Merlin:** Right

 **Arthur:** I don’t know if I’ll have enough time to get a present for you and your mum though

 **Arthur:** Though I figured my presence would be enough of a gift

Merlin snorts. He’d guessed that Arthur would say something similar to that. They’re already falling back into their old behavioural patterns, so for old time’s sake, Merlin replies with:

 **Merlin:** Obviously, Your Majesty

 **Arthur:** Indeed

 **Arthur:** Carry on now, peasant

That gets a laugh out of Merlin, one that sounds too loud in the quiet of his room. He hopes his mum hasn’t heard it. He hasn’t heard that in _ages_. It seems so boyish now that they’re both twenty-five years old and don’t have the excuse of being not-so-secret — in Merlin’s case — and secret — in Arthur’s case — dorky teenagers anymore.

Merlin stares at it with a smile until his eyes start drooping. He should probably go to bed.

 **Merlin:** Good night, Arthur

 **Arthur:** Night, Merlin

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay part 1 of 2! Let me know what you thought, please? I'm generally not very good with longer stuff, but I hoped you liked this regardless ^^
> 
> Also, if you really liked it, please consider [reblogging the promo post](http://softmerthur.tumblr.com/post/168894329722/title-second-chances-part-1-of-2-summary-in) on Tumblr? Thanks so much for reading, and I'll see you again in a few days <3


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hahahaha... Remember me... That week turned out to be almost a year...
> 
> ANYWAY we're gonna pretend I never promised that and instead, I hope you enjoy the conclusion to this fic!
> 
> (One again beta'd by [Fen](http://vanillawg.tumblr.com) who is great)

The next day, Merlin’s just come out of the shower when he gets a text from Arthur. His fingers are too pruned for the fingerprint scanner so he has to type in his sixteen character long password, his heart beating in his throat. Arthur’s name damningly hovers at the top of the screen.

 **Arthur  
** Merlin?

 **Merlin  
** Yes?

 **Arthur  
** Could you do something for me?

Oh. Merlin had kind of hoped it’d been something about last night. He tries not to let his disappointment shine through in his next text, instead opting for something more… witty.

 **Merlin  
** Depends

 **Arthur  
** On what

There they go: slipping back into old patterns again. Though it feels familiar and comforting, there’s a part of Merlin that’s — well, a bit melancholy. It’s just that they haven’t done this in so long. Too long, in fact.

 **Merlin  
** On what you want me to do and what I get in return

 **Arthur  
** I’ve almost ran out of fingerpaint and I need someone to get some for me

 **Arthur  
** And you’d be getting my eternal gratitude

Merlin smiles. He remembers a time where Arthur had insisted his eternal gratitude was more than just a banality and Merlin had believed him up until the sixteenth time Arthur had offered his eternal gratitude. In both their defence, though, they were about the age of eight. Merlin can still vividly recall the gap between Arthur’s front teeth, the one that made his mouth seem like a gaping maw whenever Arthur smiled.

 **Merlin  
** I already have plenty of that, as you’ll recall

 **Merlin  
** Also, can’t you get Guinevere to do it?

 **Arthur  
** Guinevere’s already gone home

Sighing, Merlin rubs a hand over his face. Is he really going to give into Arthur’s every whim again? It’s not like it’d be a hardship, but it’s more the principle of it that bothers Merlin. He’s about to text something rude back when another one of Arthur’s messages pops up.

 **Arthur  
** Please, Merlin?

 **Arthur  
** Pretty please?

Christ, Merlin can practically sense the puppy eyes through his screen. He can imagine Arthur pouting at it, just begging Merlin to _please, just do this one thing for me_? Merlin rolls his eyes, exasperated, but replies with:

 **Merlin  
** Yes I’ll do it, you dollophead

Another one of those old insults, one Merlin had nearly forgotten, buried beneath memories of Arthur smiling and sleep-overs and touches that were too firm to to be accidental. It predated high school, a forgotten relic from the time where they weren’t allowed to curse.

 **Arthur  
** Eternal gratitude rescinded

 **Merlin  
** Not very eternal then, is it?

 **Arthur  
** Shut up and get me some fingerpaint

Right then. Merlin snorts. They’ll probably have some at the craft shop near One Stop and if they don’t, Arthur will just have to suck it up.

—

About thirty minutes later, Merlin’s standing in front of Arthur’s nursery with two bags filled with finger paint in his hand, just staring at the letters on the window. He can already hear squealing from inside the building. Don’t get him wrong, he loves children, but just imagining Arthur with children is enough to cause a full melt-down, let alone actually seeing it.

Taking a deep breath, and then another, and another, he manages to calm himself down enough to walk inside. He’s about to move when Arthur shows up at the window, two kids hanging on his arms, his eyebrows raised.

‘ _Come inside, idiot_ ,’ Arthur mouths. Merlin rolls his eyes. He’s tempted to yell something back at Arthur through the window, but it’d probably involve some curse words and he shouldn’t swear around the little ones. The child hanging on Arthur’s right arm lets go of it and comes closer to the window, curious. Merlin waves at her, an encouraging look on his face, and she waves back shyly.

Christ, Merlin can already feel his heart melt and he isn’t even inside yet.

When he walks through the door, Arthur turns around the corner to meet him. There’s another kid now, this one clinging to his right leg. Merlin watches, amused, as Arthur limps toward him. He holds up the plastic bags with a colourful array of paintbrushes printed on them in greeting.

“Thank _God_ , Merlin,” Arthur says when he’s close, panting slightly from having to carry around three kids in addition to his usual body weight. “I’m afraid I would’ve had an uprising on my hands if they didn’t get to fingerpaint after lunch.”

Merlin raises an eyebrow, pointedly looking at the kids desperately clinging to Arthur’s limbs and then pointing at a girl with frazzled blonde hair who’s beating up a boy with a sword. “Seems like the revolution’s already started.”

Arthur turns around to look at the scene, eyebrows creased in confusion until he spots the way the girl’s actively trying to murder the long-haired boy.

“Fu — _fudge_ ,” Arthur mutters, barely correcting himself in time. He pries the kid off his leg and stalks over to the girl, saying, “Elena, stop hitting Gwaine with that plastic sword!”

Elena immediately drops it, looking guilty and pouting. Gwaine just tries to shrug it off, but he has a red mark on his arm. Arthur glares at the both of them, arms crossed over his chest. Though it makes Merlin smile, it also reminds him of Uther.

“Now, Elena,” Arthur says, stern, and Elena looks down, cheeks red with embarrassment. “What do you say when you hurt someone?”

“Sorry, Gwaine,” she whispers, so quietly Merlin almost doesn’t hear it. Judging by the way Arthur’s shoulders loosen a bit, he heard it loud and clear, and so did Gwaine, who’s already looking miles happier.

“‘S okay,” Gwaine says, smiling at her. “I didn’t mind.”

Then they’re off again, Elena chasing after Gwaine with her sword and Gwaine picking up a piece of cardboard — a shield, _obviously it’s a shield_ — to counter her attacks. Arthur immediately turns around to face Merlin.

“Sorry about that, you know how it is.”

Merlin’s about to say something along the lines of ‘ _It’s fine, don’t worry about it_ ’ when a boy runs into the room, eyes wide and coming to a stop just in time to avoid running into Arthur’s legs.

“Mr. Arthur?” he asks. Christ. The kids call Arthur ‘ _Mr. Arthur_ ’. Merlin thinks he’s going to explode.

“Yes, David?” Arthur asks, crouching down to David’s height, running a hand down David’s arm. It seems to calm the boy down, and he takes a deep breath, then another.

“Mary fell and now she’s crying,” the boy rushes out, obviously still distraught. Arthur’s face promptly falls, corners of his mouth turning down. The way he cares for these kids is just… just… Merlin’s so _fucked_.

“Oh. We better do something about that.” Arthur bites his lip, eyes flickering from the sink to David before his eyes light up with an idea. “Could you get the plasters for me?”

“Yes!” David says, a smile blossoming on his face. He turns to Merlin and leans in conspiratorially, whispering, “They’re under the sink. Don’t tell Mr. Arthur, but I like to play doctor with them sometimes.”

“I won’t tell, I promise,” Merlin whispers back, and David looks at him, head tilted, before apparently deeming him trustworthy and bounding off to get the plasters. Merlin smiles: he’s spent so much time around adults the last few years that he’d forgotten how much he adored kids.

“Conspiring against me already, I see,” Arthur says as he waits for David to get the plasters. Merlin shrugs and dares Arthur to say something. Arthur just raises his eyebrows, arms crossed over his chest.

Merlin snorts. “Maybe I’ll get to be the leader of their resistance. I’ve always wanted to be a protagonist of a _YA_ novel.”

Arthur laughs at that, loud and braying, head thrown back and creases around his eyes. He seems so in his element here. It makes Merlin blush and his heart stutter and his hands sweat. He wipes them on his trousers.

He’s about to say something really stupid when David walks up to them, case of plasters in his hand. Arthur quickly walks outside, David running behind him as quickly as his short legs can manage. Merlin trails behind them, ending up leaning against the doorpost, watching Arthur sit down next to a girl wearing a yellow skirt.

Grabbing two plasters from the case — a red one and a purple one, Arthur asks here, “Would you like a princess plaster or one with cars?”

She looks frantically between the two, tears still in her eyes. Then, timidly, she asks, “...Can I get the cars one?”

“Of course,” Arthur says, smiling. The tears seem to magically disappear from her eyes when Arthur puts the plaster on the scrape, and she watches in awe at the cars on it. Then, Arthur bows down and kisses it softly. “There you go, all better.”

She giggles. “Thank you, Mr. Arthur.”

She immediately gets up, running off to play again. Arthur watches her for a moment, a small smile on his face. Merlin steps back a bit: it feels like something he shouldn’t be witness to. It makes his heart beat faster anyway.

“Oh, sorry, Merlin. You can put the paint over there.” Arthur motions to the sink and Merlin puts the bags down there, Arthur’s footsteps following closely behind him. When he turns around, Arthur is closer than expected and Merlin swallows, looking away, hoping his cheeks aren’t too red.

He shrugs. “Don’t worry about it.”

Arthur steps even closer, and suddenly his hand is on Merlin’s shoulder, warm and solid. Arthur’s thumb ring digs into his flesh a bit. Christ, Merlin can smell him, can feel his warmth, and it’s so undeniably, unmistakably _Arthur_.

“I really did want to thank you for this, though,” Arthur says, voice low. If either of them moved, their chests would be touching.

“Do I get the eternal gratitude back?” Merlin asks, tone light, gathering the courage to look up at Arthur. Arthur’s just looking at him, pupils blown wide, gaze going from one eye to the other before dropping down to Merlin’s lips and back up again. Merlin clenches his hand into a fist, nails digging into his palms.

He opens his mouth to say something — or do something, Merlin doesn’t know but his mind is racing and his heart is pounding a hole in his chest — when of the kids yells something. Arthur steps back, cheeks red and eyes averted. Fuck. _Fuck_.

“Most certainly,” Arthur says. His eyes are dark. Merlin wants to kiss him. “And also a dinner invitation, if you’d like. After Christmas, of course.”

Merlin nods, trying not to sound too enthusiastic when he says, “Yeah, I’d like that.”

Smiling, Arthur motions for Merlin to leave. Merlin follows Arthur to the door, body alight with nerves and excitement and apprehension. He stuffs his hands into his pockets. He doesn’t know what to do with himself. When they’re standing at the door, Arthur turns around, looking Merlin up and down.

“Well,” Arthur says. His hand hovers close to Merlin’s, so close they brush when they breathe. “I suppose I’ll see you at Christmas then, won’t I?”

“Yes. I suppose.”

A kid yells and Arthur turns back, smiling apologetically before running off again. Merlin sighs and puts on his coat and his mittens and the ear warmers his mum gifted him the day before despite his protests of it not being Christmas yet. He’s just about to open the door when he hears Elena ask, “Mr. Arthur? Is Mr. Merlin your husband?”

Clenching his hand around the handle, Merlin freezes, awaiting Arthur’s response. His heart is pounding like crazy: he wonders what these kids saw, if they saw Arthur asking him to dinner, standing close, so incredibly close, if they saw the way Merlin looked at Arthur when he laughed, if Merlin had been so _obvious_ that even these children could spot it.

“No,” Arthur says simply, like that’s it, but Merlin knows that tone. He’s heard it before — back when they, well, when they… when there was something.

 _But I’d like to be_ , Merlin adds mentally. Then he walks out, not looking back.

—

He spends the walk home trying to get his frantic heartbeat down to normal. What with him being as warm as he is right now, he doesn’t even need the mittens and the earwarmers. When Merlin opens the door to his house, his mum walks out of the kitchen, wringing a towel between her hands and a knowing smile on her face. Merlin looks away guiltily; he knows he was supposed to do the dishes but then Arthur texted, and well...

“Where’ve you been?” she asks, flinging the towel over her shoulder. She’s wearing her apron and when Merlin takes a deep breath, he can already smell the biscuits in the oven. It makes him smile despite himself. He’s really missed his mum’s biscuits.

“Just went to Arthur’s,” he says, bending down to take off his shoes after he’s removed his scarf and his coat. His mum waits patiently for him to straighten up in the door well and Merlin inwardly curses her for it.

His mum raises her eyebrows. “His flat?”

“No,” Merlin says, blushing. God, if he’d actually been in Arthur’s apartment… “The nursery. He needed me to pick up some finger paint because he ran out and the kids were starting a rebellion.”

“Ah. What’d you think of it?”

Merlin shrugs, following his mother into the living room. The oven’s lit up and Merlin can see the tray of cookies through the door. “Seems like a nice enough place. And the kids are adorable. Arthur’s good with them.”

“Yeah, I imagine he is,” his mum says, putting the towel and the apron away. Merlin grabs two classes to make them both somet tea. “I’m glad he’s pursued something he’s so passionate about. I’d hate to see him wasting away in some office.”

Thinking about Uther’s study in Arthur’s old house, the dark, heavy room they were never allowed to enter but was filled with books and the air of misery, Merlin shivers. He can’t help but agree: that was never an environment meant for Arthur. “Me too.”

His mum nods, smiling. They both weren’t the biggest fan of Uther. Initially, Merlin didn’t mind him as much, but as he got older and more knowledgeable, he realised that, well, Uther wasn’t really the best father in the world. Not that he had anything to compare it to: his own father left long ago.

“Well,” his mum says after they’ve been quiet for a while, a sad yet knowing look on her face, like she’s thinking what he’s thinking. “If Arthur’s coming, do you think you could make your special mulled wine?”

That puts a smile on Merlin’s face. He hasn’t made mulled wine in ages. He just hasn’t had the time, what with uni and his thesis. The thought of Arthur’s face when he drinks it also doesn’t hurt. He nods decisively, resolving to make some. He’d have to pop back to One Stop, but it’d be worth it.

That’s why Merlin spends the entire day before Christmas making mulled wine and trying not to burn his fingers. It’s tedious and he somehow manages to ruin the first batch, but in the end he manages to make enough for his mum, Gaius, Alice, Arthur, and himself. Though he also ends up with about four plasters on each hand, so he’s not sure if he could count that as a win.

His mum fusses over him, as per usual when Merlin manages to hurt himself, and she isn’t exactly subtle about it. When Merlin went out for some extra groceries, his mum had asked him to buy a first aid box and five extra scarves. It’s completely ridiculous, of course, Merlin only singes his fingers. No first aid required.

They finish the day with a customary cuppa in the living room. His mum has spent the entire day with a smug smile on her face whenever she thought Merlin wasn’t looking, but when Merlin questions her on it, she just replies with a cryptic, ‘ _You’ll see_.’

He goes to bed that day feeling accomplished yet drained, and for once he doesn’t fall asleep talking to Arthur. Instead, he falls asleep with the image of Arthur in his head, standing _so close_ to him, that small smile on his face that makes Merlin’s heart skip beats and his eyes soft.

He wakes up on Christmas feeling oddly invigorated. Quickly putting on some trousers and a jumper, he runs down the stairs, feeling like a little kid again.

The smell of omelettes and mint tea greets him as he turns the corner of the kitchen, where his mum is standing, her back to him. She’s softly humming _Last Christmas_ , her fingers quick as she chops up some herbs, throwing them into the frying pan. The sleeves of her dress are stained with tiny grease spots.

“Merry Christmas, mum,” he says softly, hugging her from behind. His chin fits perfectly on the top of her head, her hair tickling his neck where it’s slipped out of her bun. She leans into him, her weight slight but familiar.

Hunith smiles, her arms coming up to rest on Merlin’s forearm where it’s curled around her shoulders. “Merry Christmas, my boy.”

—

Christ, Merlin feels like he’s going to throw up. Arthur’s going to be here… well, they never agreed on a time, but Arthur will be here in _his_ house for _Christmas_. He’s pretty sure he’s bitten his lips raw, and there’s nothing left of his fingernails or his cuticles.

That’s… It’s a sight he hasn’t seen in a while, a sight he thought he’d never see again: Arthur Pendragon on his doorsteps. For a moment, the image of Arthur is overlaid with a younger version of him: still lean, nose too big, too many teeth for his mouth but still so _pretty_. Merlin has to blink a few times to get rid of it, and he’s about to greet Arthur when —

The tip of Arthur’s nose is a bright red, contrasting the blue of his eyes brilliantly. Strands of blond hair escape from his beanie.

“Well?” Arthur says, eyebrow raised and the corner of his mouth twisted in a smirk. He’s so… so _Arthur_ — Merlin doesn’t know if he’d rather punch him or grab him by his disgusting bright green scarf and kiss him. “Aren’t you going to invite me in? It’s quite rude to leave your guest standing outside, you know.”

Merlin rolls his eyes, opening the door further and stepping away from the threshold, motioning for Arthur to come in; he doesn’t quite trust his voice yet. Slowly, Arthur steps through the door, still smirking, and for a second they’re _so close_. Even through the cold of the outside, Merlin can feel Arthur’s warmth, smell his aftershave. He clenches his hand on the doorpost.

Arthur continues like he’s oblivious to Merlin’s struggles — knowing Arthur, he probably is. “And so rude as well. Didn’t your mother teach you any manners?”

Turning around, Arthur unwraps that unbelievably hideous and un-Arthurlike scarf from around his neck, and Merlin is momentarily distracted from defending himself against these baseless accusations by Arthur’s fingers in front of his face, ring flashing with the soft light from the hallway lamp. The beanie is the next to go, Arthur’s hair sticking up in weird tufts which he frantically tries to smooth down.

Merlin takes a deep breath, closing his eyes, trying to calm himself down. He opens his mouth to saying something when he hears his mother’s voice coming from behind him. “Well, I tried. But I think you know how stubborn he is.”

“Ah, Hunith!” Arthur says, face lighting up as he goes to greet her. Merlin’s left standing by the door on his own, watching as Arthur kisses his mum on her cheeks. They make a picture, the two of them: Merlin’s mum smiling softly, her hand on his arm, and Arthur with a grin on his face that could probably power their Christmas tree. Merlin wants to hug them both and never let go. “Merry Christmas.”

Afraid his heart’s going to burst out of his chest — it’s pounding against his ribcage, a fight to get _out out out_ — he grabs the first thing to distract himself: Arthur’s appalling, horrendous scarf. He gingerly holds it between the tips of his fingers; the green is so radioactive it looks like it might burn his skin.

“Where did you even _get_ this scarf,” he says, making sure to inject the appropriate amount of disgust into his voice. Arthur rolls his eyes and walks back over to Merlin to snatch it away, rubbing the material between his fingers.

“Shush. It was a present.”

Merlin raises an eyebrow at that. “From Morgana? I can’t imagine she’d get you something like this.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. The children gave it to me.”

Oh. Oh, that’s… Merlin doesn’t know how to deal with it, pictures little Elena and Gwaine handing Arthur a clumsily wrapped package, anticipation and joy in their round little eyes. The look on Arthur’s face as he unwraps it, a soft smile curling the corners of his lips, reverence making his eyes glint…

“Why don’t you get the mulled wine, Merlin?” his mum asks, bringing Merlin out of his reverie. He doesn’t trust the smile on her face, or the way Arthur is speculatively looking back and forth between them. He glares at her, but nods anyway.

He has to shift past them in their tiny hallway to get to the living room, and he takes care to avoid looking at Arthur - trying to pretends he wasn’t just daydreaming, wasn’t _wanting_ him. He’s probably awful at it, his pale complexion and inability to hide what he’s feeling aren’t helpful.

They start whispering as soon as he’s gone.

—

“Good, isn’t it?” Merlin asks, sipping at his mulled wine. Arthur nods, eyes closed as he drinks from his cup. “I made it.”

Arthur almost spits out his drink in surprise, eyes wide with surprise. Merlin would be offended, but honestly, it’s Arthur. He hadn’t expected anything else. Fortunately, Arthur manages to keep it all in, though he looks like a pufferfish while doing so.

“You made this? _You_?” If Arthur’s eyebrows moved up any further they’d fall off his face. He looks positively outraged, looking at the mulled wine like it’s betrayed him. Merlin takes another sip, trying to hide his smug smile behind the cup.

“Don’t look so surprised. I’ve plenty of talents you don’t know about.”

Merlin waggles his eyebrows, leaning back into his chair, legs spreading. The look on Arthur’s face slowly changes from surprise to outrage, and then finally settles on a deep, dark red. Merlin barely manages to hold in his cackle.

“So it would seem,” Arthur mutters, eyebrows still raised, tips of his ears burning. Merlin would feel bad if Arthur wasn’t such a prat.

His mum jumps in, a self-satisfied smile on her face. “He also helped with the biscuits. There might still be bits off eggshell in those though: I’m afraid we didn’t manage to get all of them.”

Arthur smiles, though it’s more polite than anything, and edges a bit further away from the plate. Christ, he really isn’t being subtle. He can see his mum trying not to laugh, but her shoulders are shaking. “I’m sure they’re lovely.”

“Arthur, dear,” she says, reaching over to place her hand on his forearm, her thumb slowly rubbing back and forth. “If you don’t want to eat them, you don’t have to.”

Then, silence. Arthur is looking at Hunith’s hand on his arm, his eyes wide, mouth slightly open, and Merlin’s heart clenches. When he glances over at his mum, she has the same sort of look on her face: slightly heartbroken, like she wants to wrap Arthur in her arms and never let him go.

The spell is broken when Hunith squeezes once, then lets go. Arthur blinks a few times, eyelashes sweeping over his cheeks and he looks so _young_. “Oh,” Arthur whispers, breathing in, then out, trying to right himself. “Right. Of course.”

He gives the both of them an unsure smile, glancing at Merlin before his eyes drift back to his cup, and Merlin’s glad his mum’s in the room. Merlin’s own mulled wine has long since been forgotten, and they spend the next few minutes in silence, Merlin watching as Arthur drinks until his cup is empty.

Arthur’s eyeing the presents underneath their tree — his mum’s presents are neatly wrapped, little bows on top of them, whereas Merlin’s look like they went through a blender before he put them under the tree. Merlin winces a bit, expecting some teasing remark, but instead Arthur looks wistful, apologetic, a crease between his eyebrows as he rubs his thumb over his mug. “Sorry I didn’t get you anything.”

“Oh, don’t worry about it. You’ll always be more than welcome here.”

“Unless I’m around,” Merlin mutters, hoping it’s soft enough that only Arthur will catch it. By the mock-offended look on Arthur’s face — raised eyebrows, hand poised on his chest as if to imply intense displeasure — he did catch it, and Merlin starts to smirk at him, wrinkling his nose.

Then, his mum yells, “Merlin! Be nice.”

“Yes, _Mer_ lin,” Arthur says. “Be nice.”

Merlin flips him off when he’s sure his mum isn’t looking. In response, Arthur sticks out his tongue, like the mature adult he is. Merlin’s cheeks ache with his grin: he can’t remember the last time he had this much fun, the last time being around a group of people had filled him with this much joy.

—

Christmas is as exhausting as it always is. Merlin falls asleep after what feels like his fifth portion of turkey, feeling stuffed and warm with mulled wine and contentment. Rarely has he seen Arthur this happy, this relaxed, this _himself_.

 _Just for a second_ , he thinks as he lies down on sofa, watching as his mum laughs at something Gaius said. _I’ll just lie down for a second and then I’ll be fine_.

He wakes up when a blanket’s placed over his shoulders. He grumbles, trying to wave the person who placed the offending garment on him away, but said person just clamps their hands around his wrists. Nice, firm, warm hands. Merlin melts into the grip.

“Hey,” Arthur says when Merlin opens his eyes, a soft smile on his face. They’re so close, Arthur’s nose almost brushing his. Merlin can’t help that the corners of his mouth turn up at that. Arthur’s looking at him like almost no one else has. It makes Merlin’s hands tremble and his heart pound.

“Hey,” Merlin replies, yawning. Arthur lets go of his hands and he’s sad to lose the contact; the feeling of Arthur’s fingers, warm. Safe. He sits up, the blanket sliding off him until it’s lying in his lap, and he smiles when Arthur sits down next to him, so close their thighs are almost touching. “Where’s everyone gone?”

“Alice and Gaius went home. Your mum’s sleeping.”

“Oh. You should’ve woken me up,” Merlin says. Arthur remains silent, shoulders hunched over. He looks very small, suddenly, curled up on Merlin’s old sofa, and for a moment Merlin feels like they’re fourteen again. It makes him want to curl around Arthur and protect him from the outside world, from anything that would harm him. “Do you want to talk about it?”

Arthur doesn’t look at him. “Talk about what?”

“Whatever’s bothering you. I know that look,” Merlin says, pointing at Arthur’s face, only barely resisting the urge to touch him, to grab his face and just look at him forever.

“It’s just…” Arthur sighs, his fingers twisting together in his sleeves. It throws Merlin off, makes him want to touch Arthur, makes him want to hold his hand. “I’ve never really had a Christmas like this. Father was always too busy and then he had that accident and…”

Oh. Sometimes, Merlin forgets what Arthur’s home was like, what Uther was like. Seeing Arthur like this, confident and smiling and so familiar in his own skin makes it so easy to forget the boy he used to be.  

Smiling, he bumps his shoulder against Arthur, hoping it’ll distract him. “I take it that means you liked it?”

“I thought it was wonderful. Thank you for inviting me.”

It’s silent, then. Arthur’s just looking at him, blue eyes dark in the low light of the Christmas tree, and Merlin doesn’t look away, _can’t_ look away. There’s something about Arthur, about the way his hair sweeps over his forehead, the way his eyelashes cast shadows on his cheeks, the small smile on his face, the way they’re almost, _almost touching_ that makes Merlin want to… to…

He looks away.

“You can stay over, if you want,” Merlin whispers, afraid to break the silence, this mutual tranquility between them. Arthur’s eyes are burning holes into his skull, his hand is _so close_ to Merlin’s thigh, and Merlin immediately wants to both rescind the offer and keep Arthur here, on this sofa, forever. “I could pull up a mattress.”

“I’d like that.”

Merlin smiles at him, quickly, then stands up, stretching. One of his joints pops, echoing loudly in the quiet. His t-shirt has ridden up, and he pulls it down his belly, scratching at it in the process.

There’s a flush on Arthur’s cheeks, spreading down until his jaw - although that might be wishful thinking on Merlin’s part and the light of the Christmas tree.

The stairs are an adventure all on their own: Merlin nearly trips twice, still a bit groggy from having woken up, and Arthur tries to smother his giggles behind his hand. Merlin glares at him, but he probably fails miserably considering that his hair is sticking up in random tufts and there’s sand in his eyes.

They take turns brushing their teeth - Arthur first, then Merlin. Merlin takes this time to grab their spare mattress and change into his pyjama, fidgeting with the edge of his sleep shirt. He’s sitting on the edge of his bed, trying his hardest not to think of Arthur, soft with sleepiness, cheekbones defined in the harsh bathroom lights, when Arthur walks in.

“Your turn,” Arthur whispers, pulling Merlin up when he holds out his hand and pouts. Arthur’s hand is nice and warm, still a bit damp from when he washed it, and Merlin doesn’t want to let go.

But Arthur inevitably turns away from him, pulling off his shirt and… And that’s Merlin’s cue to go, right now, before he does something he’ll regret in the morning when he has full use of his faculties.

Arthur is already lying beneath his blanket when Merlin returns from the bathroom and Merlin doesn’t know whether to be disappointed or not. He turns off the light, too tired to do anything more than walking to his bed and falling asleep.

Merlin is almost sleeping when he hears Arthur starts speaking.

“Merlin?” Arthur whispers into the shadows, so soft Merlin almost doesn’t hear it. The sheets rustle when Merlin turns over to look at Arthur. A pale streak of moonlight hits the side of his face, allowing Merlin to see those big eyes staring at him, hair lit up like a halo.

“Yes, Arthur?” Merlin says. Arthur jumps, bringing his hand up to his face to scratch at his cheek. His fingers cast dark shadows over his skin, long and capable, and Merlin has to force himself to look away. Merlin swallows once, twice, and reminds himself he has to be patient.

He jumps when Arthur’s fingers brush against his, so gently Merlin barely notices it. He does it again, and again, and Merlin curls his fingers up and allows them them to catch. The pads of Arthur’s fingers are softer than expected, and warm, so warm. Merlin feels like his heart’s going to beat out of his chest.

“I’ve missed you,” Arthur says. It’s sudden, unexpected, but it’s been filling the silences between them like an unspoken promise. His voice sounds sincere and it throws Merlin off balance and fills him with warmth and… hope for the future.

Merlin, because he can’t say anything else, his throat blocked up with everything he wants to say but doesn’t dare, says, “I missed you too.”

When Merlin falls asleep, Arthur’s fingers are still curled around his.

—

Merlin wakes up to the view of Arthur sleeping on a mattress on his floor. He shoots up, quickly checking he’s still over the age of sixteen because this feels awfully familiar.

“Morning,” Arthur says, yawning as he stretches. Merlin can see the muscles move beneath Arthur’s shirt, and Arthur’s gross and his breath smells, but he’s soft and rounded with sleep, eyes small with exhaustion.

Merlin smiles. “Good morning.”

He pushes Arthur gently down the stairs, his hand fitting around the curve of Arthur’s shoulder, his skin warm and soft. Instead of bantering back, Arthur just laughs and lets himself be pushed, almost walking into the wall.

His mum clears her throat, pointedly looking up at the ceiling. Merlin’s stomach fills with dread. She wouldn’t… would she?”

“Oh,” Arthur breathes out as he looks up, muscles in his throat drawn taut. Merlin can already see the white berries, the red ribbon tied around a little plant hanging from the ceiling. _Mistletoe_.

“ _Mum_ ,” Merlin whines, frantically looking between himself and Arthur. He can’t believe she’s done this, that she would betray him like this. His mum is horribly, horribly _evil_.

“No, you have to,” his mum says, cutting Merlin off before he can even continue. She raises her eyebrows when he opens his mouth. “Come on, Merlin. It’s Christmas.”

“Well, then,” Arthur says when he turns to Merlin, eyes wide and dark, gaze flickering between Merlin’s lips and his eyes. Merlin swallows. Warmth is radiating off Arthur, his shoulder brushing Merlin’s.

Then, Arthur leans closer.

Arthur’s nose brushes his cheek, head tilting upwards. His lips brush Merlin’s once, softly, and Merlin shivers. Merlin’s hand finds its way to Arthur’s waist, clenching in Arthur’s shirt, and Arthur leans closer, presses his lips against Merlin’s more firmly.

Letting out a shuddery breath of air, Merlin uses the hand at Arthur’s waist to drag him closer, _closer_ , melting into his chest. Arthur wraps his arms around Merlin’s neck, his fingers tangling in the hair at the nape of Merlin’s neck. Arthur’s kissing him with purpose, and suddenly it turns open-mouthed and wet and hot.

Merlin groans and wraps his arms around Arthur waist, pulling him close enough for their hips to brush, and then his fingers slip under Arthur’s shirt, scratching softly at Arthur’s back and then —

Merlin pulls back, resting his forehead against Arthur’s shoulder. Both of them are breathing hard, chests pressed close enough together for Merlin to feel the crazy beat of Arthur’s heart.

Christ. His _mum_. Merlin feels like a bucket of ice has been thrown over him. When he jumps back, he can see the indulgent smile on his mum’s face even though she’s turned away.

“I’m,” Merlin says, scratching at his forearm. The carpet suddenly seems very interesting. “I’m just, uh. Going to go,” Merlin motions to the kitchen behind him with his thumb. He’s pretty sure his face is on fire right now. “Get some water.”

Arthur nods. His hands are stuffed in the pockets of his pyjama pants. When Merlin looks up, he can see how red and swollen Arthur’s lips are. Fuck, _he did that_. “Right. I’ll just be over here. On the sofa.”

“Of course,” Merlin chokes out, nodding frantically and diving into the kitchen as soon as possible.

Grabbing a glass from the cupboard and trying his hardest not to drop it — he can feel it sliding out of his sweaty hands — he fills it up with water. It sloshes over the side, wetting his hands, but he doesn’t care, bringing it up to his mouth as soon as it’s filled. He drinks it all at once, hoping it’ll make his face cool down.

His mum’s watching him with a huge smile on her face, and Merlin narrows his eyes, putting down his glass. “You’ve been planning this, haven’t you?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she says, turning her back to him. Merlin stands there, undignified, and he’s about to respond when his mum whirls back around, whisper-shouting, “ _Merlin_. Are you really going to complain when Arthur’s sitting right there?”

Oh. Merlin looks over his shoulder to where his mum is not-so-subtly pointing. Arthur’s sitting on the sofa, staring out the window, his lips and his cheeks a bright red. The morning flight flits off his hair, painting it a glinting gold and throwing his profile into shadow. Merlin forgets to breathe.

“Go to him, Merlin,” his mum says, giving him a little push. He turns back, shooting her a look that he hopes yells ‘ _this isn’t over yet_ ’. His mum just waggles her eyebrows and pushes him again. Right. Arthur. _Right._

“So,” Merlin says, picking at a thread sticking out from the sofa. Arthur swallows, his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down. Merlin wants to kiss him again.

“So,” Arthur repeats.

They stare at each other. Arthur’s eyes are wide, his eyelashes still clumped together with sleep. He looks like everything’s Merlin ever wanted, and Merlin’s breathless with the feeling in his stomach.

“ _Finally_ ,” Merlin says.

Arthur laughs, head thrown back, and _there_ that feeling is, the one that makes Merlin think ‘ _I would like to stay with you forever_.’ “Finally, indeed.” When Arthur’s finished, he turns to Merlin, his eyes still filled with laughter. Merlin bites his lip when Arthur’s fingers curl around his. “Merry Christmas, Merlin.”

“A very gay Christmas to you too,” Merlin says and kisses him again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> YAY IT'S DONE!!!! It's now officially the longest finished fic of mine ever, so I hope y'all enjoyed it! Maybe leave me a comment if you did?
> 
> ALSO!!!!! HAPPY HOLIDAYS Y'ALL!!!!!
> 
> (Also also, maybe [reblog the post for this on Tumblr](https://softmerthur.tumblr.com/post/181276032127/title-second-chances-part-2-of-2-summary-in) if you _really_ liked it?)


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